


Five Birthdays

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Birthdays [1]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: Whilst the team are investigating a human trafficking ring, Face disappears and the route back is longer and harder than anyone could ever have imagined.





	Five Birthdays

**Author's Note:**

> Posted here for Loves_Books, who expressed an interest in reading it again :) 
> 
> This story contains unpleasant themes. Trafficking, sexual and physical torture, illegal imprisonment, homicide and non-consensual sexual encounters are all referenced (off-screen), but not explicitly described.

Birthday One

Three men stand on a hill before a roughly-made stone cairn and look out over the dry Californian mountains. Nobody speaks. There’s nothing they can say.

 

They have hiked three hours in silence to get here, and will walk the three hours in silence back before each going their separate ways for the rest of the day. Maybe even the week, hell, maybe even forever because this great big empty hole of nothingness where Face used to be is just driving them further away from each other day by day.

 

Hannibal is the first to turn away from the cairn and start the trail back, not looking or caring to see if the others join him. He didn’t even want to come up here, _before_ they’d only ever come up here together, all four of them, brushing up on their survival skills, bit of team bonding, four friends just enjoying some time together. What on earth is the point in coming up with one less?

 

But it was what Murdock wanted, _needed_ BA insisted, and Hannibal felt so damn guilty already, guilty that his actions had already cost Murdock his best friend, the one person that seemed to anchor him to reality better than anyone, guilty that he hadn’t managed to protect Face in the first place, guilty that he’s not managed to find him again in all this time since he’d been taken.

 

Fingers curl in on themselves; cutting into his palms as he leaves behind a marker to a man that he cannot in all honesty believe is still alive. Four months Face has been missing, just disappeared off the edge of the world it seems. He was watching the warehouse they knew had been used as a staging post for the human trafficking ring they were trying to crack. BA was with him, had gone around the back of a the next warehouse along to take a leak, was only gone three minutes, when he got back, Face had disappeared. His phone was on the seat of the car, the car door was wide open, his damn coffee was still hot, but Face was gone.

 

Hannibal feels the sharp edge of despair of those first few days all over again. The promise he made to his missing lieutenant that he would not sleep until they had him back safe again, the way that promise had been broken with the help of one of BA’s syringes after five solid days of desperate, wakeful searching. The lost look that Murdock got in his eyes the second they told him that Face was missing, the look that is still there now. The guilt that BA felt, the way he smashed up his van with a crowbar, staving in every panel and every pane as Hannibal stood by and watched him, wishing he too had an outlet for his pain.

 

Four months of not knowing, of searching and hoping and screaming, of dead ends and disappointments. They have honestly raided more warehouses and cellars than Hannibal can remember, and every damn time it is the same, running his eyes over the huddled, abused bodies, looking into their sunken eyes and praying that one of them is Face, while also hoping that it’s not, that wherever they have taken him, his life has not been like this for the past months, that wherever he is he is not someone’s toy, there to simply provide an outlet for their deviance and sadism. But of course Hannibal cannot imagine for one minute that Face would give in like that, that he would let someone break his free will after all the years he has spent defending it – which is why he cannot help but believe that the kid is gone, that his beautiful, sweet, loving boy is dead, the life beaten out of him and his body thrown in a hole to rot all alone.

 

And so they reached today – Face’s birthday. Hannibal can’t help but shake his head in bitter irony, because, of course, it’s not even really the kid’s birthday, they can’t even give him that. This is what Murdock always called his ‘official’ birthday, the one that Murdock assigned to him when he realised he never celebrated the anniversary of being found on the church steps. Face had never seen the point in remembering the day that his parents decided they didn’t want him, so Murdock gave him another day to hold onto, the day that the team wanted to try and give him something he was missing. Face had been touched, Hannibal can still remember the look in his eyes, the way the blue started to shine as the tears filled up and he just remembers wishing that he had been the one who had thought of that. He could have done that for Face nine years ago, when the kid was still in his teens, given him all those happy birthday memories to look back on. But then he had berated himself for his thoughts and forced himself into just being happy that Face was happy now, because for a long, long time, that’s really all that had mattered to him.

 

It was BA’s idea to come up here today though. Hannibal hadn’t wanted to, as much as he found it harder with every passing day to think of Face as still being alive, coming up here, building him a cairn, _remembering_ him, just makes it all the more certain that he isn’t coming back. And if Face doesn’t come back, then Hannibal just doesn’t know what he will do.   

 

_________________

 

Birthday Two

 

Twelve months on, Face’s birthday again, and a very different set of circumstances.

 

Hannibal lets himself out of the sliding doors onto the deck and closes them behind him, needing the solitude, needing the privacy before he can break down. His back thumps against the side of the house and he slides down, his ass hitting the warm wooden deck with a thud he doesn’t even feel and lets the tears wash out of his eyes. He hasn’t slept in three days, but doesn’t know if he will ever be able to sleep again, not after seeing what he has these past days... not after knowing what he knows...

 

He remembers the phone call that started it all off. Their work in cracking ring after ring after ring had obviously come to the attention of the authorities eventually; fortunately, the FBI agent who realised who they were and what they were doing was much more interested in saving the lives of innocent people the world over than sending a few military fugitives back to jail. Hannibal didn't care much either way, as long as he was a free man he wouldn’t stop looking for Face, but he knew that search was driving him into the ground, that he couldn’t keep rubbing his own face into the depths of humanity for much longer without losing his sanity, so what did he care if he was sent back to Leavenworth?

 

Agent Jack Dark, however, felt the fight was still worth fighting. So they pooled resources and information and their crusade became a joint one, too late, unfortunately for Dark’s sister, but maybe not too late for Face as he kept on reminding Hannibal; Hannibal just wished he could believe him. After six months of their shared efforts, Dark somehow managed to arrange for the remaining charges against them to be dropped. How he did it, Hannibal is still not sure, he’s never really asked. Finding out that Face was a free man somehow made it all the more painful to remember that he actually wasn’t.

 

So, back to the phone call. Hannibal had just got out of the shower when the phone was ringing, he could see that it was Dark and for a minute considered ignoring it, not really knowing of he could deal with walking into another one of those places again, seeing all those destroyed lives laid out in front of him. But the news wasn’t what he had been expecting. A house in Colombia had been raided on a drugs warrant, an unknown man had been found imprisoned in the cellar, the Colombian officials had fingerprinted him... Hannibal had grabbed for the sink to stop himself from collapsing in shock. Face...

 

Dark asked if Hannibal would be ready to travel in an hour, he was ready in twenty minutes, pacing outside his apartment building, waiting for the agency car to come and pick him up. Six hours later he was pacing again, this time in the waiting area of a rundown Colombian police station while Dark signed forms and filled in various sheets and conversed with other agents in a hushed voice that filled Hannibal with dread.

 

Then they were ready to go and see him and Hannibal was holding on to the contents of his stomach. He’d seen enough of these poor bastards over the last year to dread what he was going to find on the other side of that door, he had deliberately kept all of this from BA and Murdock for that very reason, but the way the guards were looking at him, the pity and horror in their eyes... He just had to keep reminding himself that this was _Face,_ that they had him back, that no matter how bad the kid was, he was still better off than he was this time last week.

 

Dark pulled him to one side, made him sit down and Hannibal had expected this, but the bleak look in his friend’s eyes filled him with dread.

 

“Hannibal,” was that a tremor in the usually unflappable FBI man’s voice? “You have to prepare yourself for the fact that Face will be different from how you remember him...”

 

Hannibal’s fists balled, “I know. How many of these cases have we seen so far? You think I’m waiting for him to stroll out of there and ask to go for a beer?”

 

Dark’s brown eyes held onto Hannibal’s and the pity he could see there terrified the hell out of him. “John,” his voice was almost a whisper, “he’s in a bad way. They needed to sedate him to get anywhere near him back at the house and since then he’s not responded to anyone or anything.” Hannibal just nodded, not trusting himself to speak, “I think we’ll have to sedate him again, to get him out.” Again Hannibal nodded, he would agree to anything just to get Face home again.

 

So they had gone in, and Hannibal had thought he was prepared, but he wasn’t.

 

They were led into a bleak, empty cell, no windows, single light bulb, and huddled in the corner, wearing nothing but a straight jacket was a filthy, shaking figure. Hannibal stopped dead and stared in abject horror; there was nothing of Face recognisable in that starved, abused form. He was immediately taken back to the film reels he’d seen as a child of the service men liberated from Nazi Prison Camps, but at least in those reels the gaunt, traumatised faces had looked relieved, comforted even that they were being liberated, the figure in front of him looked terrified still, and unaware of anything other than the private hell of his own mind.

 

Hannibal had got down on his knees and crawled forward, soft, reassuring nonsense coming out of his mouth as he inched closer. All the while his keen blue eyes were flicking over Face’s body, taking in the old, deep gouges around his wrists and ankles, the wasted limbs, knees, ankles and elbows jutting out at sharp unnatural angles, the bruises everywhere, everywhere, blue, black, green, yellow, red. The beautiful hair was gone, shaved down to white, scabbed skin and there were other marks in with the bruises, burns, scars, lacerations, welts, a scabbed and weeping wound that ran right round his neck in a ring. Hannibal found it hard to see past the sudden tears in his eyes.

 

He reached out with a shaking hand, “Face,” and was shocked by the tremor in his own voice. Gently his fingers reached the bent head, touching just ever so softly, “Kid, look at me...” and the figure moved, lifting its head, sunken eyes rising to meet Hannibal’s but there was no recognition there, there was no _Face_ in there. Hannibal had jolted back automatically even as the figure sprang at him, the speed alien in such wasted muscles, the fury and the rage in the dead blue eyes truly terrifying. If it hadn’t been for the straight jacket and the speed that Dark moved with the sedative, Hannibal knew his neck would have been snapped. As it turned out he ended up flat on his back on the floor, semi-naked and unconscious lieutenant sprawled on top of him and Dark’s look of pity shining in his eyes.

 

So started three days of hell. The FBI had wanted to commit Face to a mental institution, Dark had tried to persuade Hannibal that it was for the best, that experts were needed to care for him now, help him get better, but Hannibal refused. Face had spent most of his life in institutions, and Hannibal had promised the kid that from now on he had a home with him. There was no way he was going back on that promise. He’d also seen the terror in the kid’s face as he had launched himself at him, and he knew, instinctively, that Face needed to be with people he knew, he needed to be with Hannibal. Plus, he was no fool and he knew damn well that once Face was in that mental care system, there would be no way on earth he would ever get him out again.

 

Hannibal had come home, entrusted Face to a private medical unit for forty eight hours, advised they kept him sedated and worked around the clock to prepare a room for his lieutenant, no furniture apart from the bed, toughened glass in the windows, reinforced door with deadbolts. Filled the kitchen with food and the fridge with sedatives and then went to collect his boy.

 

Face had looked better since the staff at the medical unit had cleaned and stitched and treated him the best that they could. They gave Hannibal a copy of his notes which he kept sealed in their envelope for now, and pots of medication, anti-biotics, anti-inflammatories, anti-depressants, sleeping tablets, plus strict instructions of the danger signs to watch out for and how to feed him up without sending his gastric system into shock. Then Hannibal had taken him home.

 

From his seat on the floor of the deck, Hannibal looks down at his watch and realises that he has had Face back in this house with him for eleven hours. Eleven hours where his lieutenant, best friend, protégé and the object of his most private and devout love, has tried to kill him no less than eight times. He has ripped off and ripped up three sets of clothing that Hannibal has tried to get him to wear, thrown the build-up milk shake mixture that the hospital recommended at the wall twice, and apart from sobbing as he tried to jam himself under the bed every time Hannibal walked into his room, hasn’t uttered a sound.

 

He lets out a bitter laugh – today is the kid’s official birthday, some way to celebrate. But Hannibal remembers the empty painful day up in the mountains last year and forces himself to realise that they at least have more hope than that. He pulls himself up to his feet and wipes his sore, exhausted eyes before walking over to the window to Face’s room, the room he gave him that looks out over the hills all the way down to the sea, the room Hannibal has been forced to lock his lieutenant in for his own safety. He can see him now, curled up on the floor like a dog, naked, not sleeping, he is shaking too much to be asleep. Hannibal can’t tear his eyes away from the dark black bruising that spreads out from between his boy’s thighs in a stain of pure evil and for a second wonders if Dark was right, if Face needs more than Hannibal can give him.

 

But just as quick he pushes that thought away. No. He won’t give up on the kid, too many people have done that already and Hannibal Smith sure as hell won’t be the next. Instead he pulls his mobile out of his pocket and takes a deep breath before he hits the speed dial for BA’s number.  

 

____________________

 

Birthday Three

Hannibal bolts awake, his eyes flashing to the clock and realising that for the first time in a year, in the entire three hundred and sixty-five days since Face moved into his house, he has woken up by himself, quietly and naturally, no screaming, no banging, no sobbing, just silence. He’s out of his bed in a second, padding quickly but silently down the corridor, past the locked metal door and out onto the deck. He flattens himself against the wall and sneaks a peak around the corner into the room, his heart pounding uncertainly in his chest, wondering what he will see. He remembers the day that Face had pulled the bed to pieces and used the slivers of wood to carve up his wrists. Then there was the time that he had twisted the bed sheets into a rope and managed to get it around both his neck and the light fitting before BA found him. And of course the time he’d had a fit overnight and almost choked on his own vomit; only Murdock’s quick thinking and use of the Heimlich manoeuvre had saved him that time.

 

So Hannibal hardly dares to look, and when he does, the sight that meets his eyes takes his breath away, makes him grab onto the window sill for support before he gives up and slides down onto the warm deck, tears flowing freely from his eyes, splashing onto the t-shirt he fell asleep in. Face is in bed, sleeping, under the covers and Hannibal can see that he is still wearing the t-shirt that Murdock dressed him in before putting him to bed last night. The hundreds of t-shirts that have bitten the dust in the last twelve months, this is the first one to survive more than an hour in Face’s company.

 

Today is Face’s birthday, but it may as well be Hannibal’s because he knows that, even on his twenty first birthday, he would never get a present as precious as that one.

 

Enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and the calm silence of the room behind him, Hannibal thinks back over the last twelve months, and if he can now finally dare to hope that there may be a light at the end of the tunnel for them all.

 

~~~~~~

 

BA had been devastated when he saw Face. Hannibal had explained to him as best he could what the big guy could expect, but he obviously had not been thorough enough. And how could he be? BA had not been to the house where Face was imprisoned for all those months like Hannibal had. Dark had taken him, despite his best efforts to persuade Hannibal that it was a bad idea. But Hannibal had wanted to go, he’d _needed_ to know where Face had been; have at least some idea what the poor kid had been through. But BA of course hadn’t seen the dark cellars that ran the length of the house. He hadn’t seen the cages and the metal boxes, the chains on the walls and those hanging from the ceilings. He had been spared touching the blood soaked webbing and the nets that were attached to pulleys operated by a switch in a hi-tech control console, he hadn’t frozen in horror at the whips and paddles and spiked balls, all the straps and harnesses, the collars and leads; he hadn’t stood and stared in disgust at the restraint table with its chains and shackles, stains of blood and other bodily fluids. But even Hannibal had drawn the line at the racks of DVDs carefully organised by date, at least one for every day going back two years before Face had even gone missing. The last one had been filmed the very morning of the raid, but Face had been the only occupant of the cellar when the police stormed it, and despite everything that he had seen or been told, Hannibal realised with a sudden icy chill, that at least his boy was luckier than some.

 

So, no. BA only knew about a fifth of what Hannibal did, and since those were the thoughts that tormented every minute of Hannibal’s life now, waking and sleeping, that’s all BA would ever know. And by the time they got around to telling Murdock, the Captain knew less still. Hannibal had just wished that he could protect Face the same way...         

 

But BA had soon shaken off his horror and risen admirably to the challenge. A month or so into their attempts to rehabilitate Face, Hannibal was beaten down, the state that Face was still in, the things he had seen and the stuff he had had to go through to get the kid home with him, they had all piled on top of him until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

 

He called BA out of desperation and the big guy had come over, taken one look at his CO, strung right out on the edge, and sent him off to get some sleep, but Hannibal had had other ideas.

 

“I’m not leaving him with you!” he’d yelled, his red rimmed eyes full of tears, “You were supposed to be with him the night those bastards took him! If you’d been looking after him properly then, none of this would have happened to him!”

 

BA barely flinched at that. He and Hannibal had been over and over this in the months after Face disappeared, and Hannibal had been the one who had eventually helped BA throw off his guilt. If those guys had wanted Face as much as they seemed to, then they would have had no worries about popping a bullet through BA’s head to get him, BA couldn’t have saved him, they would have gone down together.

 

But, exhausted and depressed as he was, Hannibal had lost sight of that fact. “Look at him BA!” he yelled, pointing to the corner where Face was huddled, still refusing clothes, skinny arms wrapped around his knees, eyes unfocussed and staring at the wall as he rocked himself slowly backwards and forwards. And as they both looked, the sight seemed to tear every scrap of anger from Hannibal’s frame as he just sagged onto the floor, collapsing in a way that BA had never seen before, not in the ten years he had known the man. Everything just leeched out of him and he started to sob, broken, empty sobs, staring all the while at Face who was still oblivious to everything but his own mental anguish. “Look at him!” Hannibal sobbed, “They’ve taken him, BA, my boy, my beautiful, beautiful boy... All that he was, all that life, all that spark, he’s gone, there’s nothing left!” He picked up a shoe from the carpet next to him and threw it hard against the wall where it shattered a picture frame.

 

“All he’d fought through in his life! All pointless! All worthless because they’ve taken everything he was away from him!” BA just stood and stared, as lost as Hannibal in how he should deal with this, “And I still love him...” Hannibal folded in on himself, sobbing harder now, not realising the part of himself he had revealed to his corporal, “But he won’t let me near him, hasn’t said one damn word, looks at me like he hates me, and maybe he does, after all I never found him did I? All that time I know he was waiting for me, I’ve always promised him I would find him, and I never did...”

 

Eventually the words ran out and Hannibal knelt on the floor, his hands in his hair, his face in the carpet, sobbing for him and his loss, and for BA and his guilt, but mostly for Face and for all the horrors that he hadn’t been able to save the kid from in these last sixteen months.

 

“Hannibal,” eventually it was too much for BA, “come on, boss.” He sank down onto the carpet next to his CO and pulled him into his arms, “don't do this,” he whispered as Hannibal just clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably, “we need to be strong, right? For Face. We need to help him out of this hole he’s in.” Hannibal just squeezed his eyes shut even tighter; he couldn’t see Face getting out of that hole – ever. “Come on, boss,” BA pleaded, “you’re scaring him.”

 

Hannibal let out an ironic ‘humph’. All the time that he’d spent with Face this last month, talking to him, getting him to eat, trying to persuade him to wear clothes, tending to his injuries, and never once had Face even acknowledged his existence; hadn’t even tried to attack him since that very first day. It was just like he didn’t see, hear, feel or even notice that Hannibal was there with him. And even though Hannibal tried to convince himself otherwise, that hurt him so, so much. So the thought that they were scaring Face now? No, Hannibal was sure the kid would be in his own little world still, painfully oblivious to everything.

 

But then he had looked up, and looked straight into piercing blue eyes staring right back at him and he had frozen in shock. And BA was right, Face _did_ look frightened, but unlike all the other times he’d looked frightened in the past month, this time, he looked frightened for _Hannibal_ , not for himself. Without even thinking, Hannibal reached out an arm to him and Face scuttled like a crab straight across the carpet and threw himself into that arm. Hannibal couldn’t believe it, he yanked his other arm away from BA and used it to draw his boy in, feeling all the bones and the tight skin as the cold, thin form pressed itself into his body and for one glorious second he began to think that Face was back.

 

And then the moment was gone and so was Face, back into his corner and his own world, all life gone from his eyes again, but left in his wake was a hope that Hannibal and BA hadn’t felt in a long, long while.

 

~~~~~

 

Sitting out in the deck in the sun, Hannibal thinks back to how those tiny flashes of Face started to come more and more often. How they would sometimes catch him looking at them as if he knew them, how his eyes would occasionally track around the room as one of them busied themselves with dusting or tidying up or making a meal. But he never spoke, never responded to any attempts to engage him in any non-verbal conversations, still seemed to spend most of his time wrapped up in his own world, a world that would leave him shaking and convulsing on the floor, that wouldn’t let him sleep in a bed or wear clothes, a world that would sometimes consume him so entirely that he would be left screaming in terror over something only he could see, and it still broke Hannibal’s heart.

 

It was another four months before the first real breakthrough came.

 

~~~~~~~

 

They had told Murdock that Face was back after six weeks. It had taken that long for Hannibal to realise that they would not be getting the Face they knew back anytime soon, and despite how hard they knew this was going to be for their pilot, both Hannibal and BA knew that letting Murdock think Face was still missing for any longer was just damn cruel.

 

So BA had volunteered to tell him, had assured Hannibal that he would make sure Murdock understood, that he wouldn’t let the pilot anywhere near Hannibal’s house before he was sure that there would be no horrific re-introductions. In the end, it seemed that no one should have worried. Murdock listened to BA’s account of everything that had happened and everything that he knew, shed a few tears of relief that Face was alive, then asked if he could go and see him. BA took him over and Murdock spoke to Face like the terrified child he was, then simply sat down in the same room as him and started reading a comic book.

 

Hannibal and BA had stared in surprise, and even Face had looked over from his space on the floor near the window, but Murdock had surprised them all and just carried on reading.

 

Over the next few weeks, Murdock came over every day with a new comic book which he sat on the floor in the same room as Face and read in silence. Hannibal took that time to shower, to make food that Face wouldn’t eat and eventually to go to the store or catch up on some sleep, and every time Murdock came over, Face settled down a little closer to him. Eventually, after a whole month of this new daily routine, Murdock had started reading his books aloud and Face sometimes looked like he was actually listening, he was also close enough that Murdock could have touched him. He didn’t though, and for that Hannibal was eternally grateful. He had no idea if Murdock was just incredibly intuitive, or if BA had told him of his inadvertent slip up that day right at the start, but Hannibal would have found it so hard if Face had let someone into his space before Hannibal...

 

So, after watching the pilot at work, putting Face at ease with his no-pressure approach, Hannibal started doing the same thing on a night after the others had left for the day. He would change into his sleeping shorts, sit on the floor as close to Face as he dared, pick up his book and start reading aloud. The choice of story had proved challenging, at first he hadn’t wanted to read anything with any subject matter that Face might find upsetting, but he soon found out that that ruled out almost every book ever written. Even _The Wind in the Willows_ had found the reject pile once Hannibal remembered how Toad was thrown into jail. But then he’d thought of the stories that Murdock had been reading, of _Spider Man_ and _Spawn, Judge Dread_ and _Captain America_ , none of them pre-teen reading, so he had shrugged his shoulders and picked up _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ smiling in affection as he remembered the way that Face used to carry it around on missions with them, ‘just in case I ever feel the need to read one day, then I’ve got something handy!’ And within a week, the kid was curled at his side, naked back pressed along the length of his thigh as he read chapter after chapter. By the time Hannibal had started _The Chamber of Secrets_ he’d even managed to rest his hand on Face’s slowly re-growing hair, noticing the almost-not-there twitch that the kid did every time his palm came down to rest in place.

 

The next breakthrough came months later after a visit from Agent Dark. He’d kept in touch with Hannibal, was probably still hoping that they would get to work together sometime soon, but wasn’t stupid enough to suggest it while Face was still struggling back from hell. He didn’t come into the house, Face couldn’t cope with strangers at all, even a glimpse of someone new sent him into a complete panic for reasons that Hannibal did not like to think about. So Hannibal met him at the end of the drive, making sure that Murdock and his comics or BA and his quiet ways were there to sit with Face while he went out to stretch his legs and catch up on the news of Face’s abductor.

 

Hannibal sat on the fence post and listened to the news that four bodies had been dug up in the orchard at the back of the house. DNA tests had linked them to four missing men, a Colombian soldier, a Mexican thirty year old father of two, a US college student who went missing in San Francisco and a British backpacker who disappeared on his gap year in Costa Rica. All the men matched the descriptions of those in the DVDs, plus Face of course. He seemed to be the only one who had had a starring role in these productions who had made it out of that house alive. For that small fact, Hannibal was eternally grateful.

 

Then Dark explained that the agents who had watched the DVDs had watched how the owner of the house, one Carlos Ortiz, had brain-washed his captives, threatening to kill their friends and families unless they submitted to his orders. Stripping them of their independence and free will by coercion and torture until they were unable to do anything for themselves without an order, how one of the men had simply starved to death once Ortiz stopped ordering him to eat. Hannibal tried to put the thoughts of those detested DVDs out of his mind and instead considered what Dark was telling him. “So you think the reason that Face is talking, isn’t doing much of anything really, is because he has no free will and no one to order him around?”

 

Dark shrugged, “Could be. What have you got him to do so far?”

 

Hannibal had rubbed his head tiredly, “Not much really, he will eat and sleep a bit but only when we-” he stopped short, “Only when we tell him he has to...”

 

The two men looked at each other and Dark sighed, “Doctor Tony Morrell,” he said, getting to his feet and straightening his obligatory suit, “he’s a world expert in the removal of free will. I’ll get him to call you.” Hannibal shook his hand and started walking home slowly, pondering over his conversation.

 

Dr. Morrell called the next day and arranged to meet Hannibal at the end of the drive the day after. He was keen to meet up with Face, but was also willing to wait as Hannibal was reluctant to spring anything on his lieutenant just yet. Instead the two men talked at length, and Morrell felt that what had happened to Face was exactly as Dark had suspected, that through threats and coercion and torture, Ortiz had removed the will and the ability to think of for himself. Hannibal started at the Doctor in horror. “Will he get it back?” he had asked in a quiet whisper, and Morrell had shrugged.

 

“Maybe, maybe not. I am sorry Colonel Smith, that is as clear as I can be.”

 

Hannibal scrubbed his face with his hand and looked at the doctor intently, “So what do we do?” he’d whispered, dreading the answer he knew was coming.

 

“You need to take over the role that Ortiz had in his life,” Morrell held his hand up as he saw Hannibal start to violently protest, “No, you misunderstand me, you don't need to hurt him or terrorise him, but he is waiting for someone to tell him what he can do, what he _must_ do. He’s probably been told he can’t speak, eat, sleep, anything without express permission, and that fact that you are leaving him to do all of these things whenever and wherever he wants is probably confusing and stressing the hell out of him.”

 

Hannibal let out a dark laugh, “Face has _never_ liked doing what he was told...”

 

But Morrell didn’t share his humour. “I imagine he was hard for Ortiz to break down. But men like Ortiz are not easy to thwart, and I have seen some of the DVDs...” Hannibal swallowed hard at the look on the doctor’s face, “The fact that your man made it out of there alive I think speaks volumes about his strength, Colonel Smith. But what made him so resilient to Ortiz’s attacks in the first place, will make it even harder for him to return to normal now. I can’t stress how much he needs you all here to help him...”

 

Hannibal had only nodded. 

 

But Morrell’s idea had proved more popular with Murdock and BA than Hannibal had thought it would. He’d explained everything the doctor had said as the three of them had huddled out in the hallway, leaving Face alone in the lounge for a few rare minutes.

 

“It makes sense Colonel,” Murdock had agreed, “If Face has been told he can only do what he is told to do or there will be dire consequences, stands to reason that it will take a while to reverse that thought in his head.”

 

“But do you really think _us_ ordering him around is the way around it?” Hannibal had asked.

 

“Maybe it’s a way a way into his head...” BA had offered and that had been the end of that.

 

~~~~~~

 

The theory had been easier than the practice however. Hannibal had offered to start as he was the one who had the most practise at ordering Face around anyway, but when the push came to the shove he just couldn’t do it. He and Face were in the house alone and Hannibal had made a chorizo and bean stew that Face was refusing to have anything to do with. He was still only drinking build up shakes, and the hospital staff that Hannibal phoned said that he really should be back on solid food by now. So he’d brought him into the kitchen and sat him at the table, placed the tiny plate of food in front of him and told him to eat.

 

Face had looked scared to death and instantly slid off the chair and onto the floor, sinking back into the corner and huddling there, looking at Hannibal with huge fearful eyes. Hannibal dropped his head into his hands and thought. If Doctor Morrell was right then Face was too scared to eat without an order, worried about the repercussions if he did. What Hannibal needed to do was to make him more scared _not_ to eat; make the order that came from Hannibal more terrifying to buck than the original one from Ortiz. And then he realised that he just couldn’t do it, couldn’t make Face any more frightened than he already was. But then if Morrell was right, following Hannibal’s orders should make Face feel _less_ frightened rather than more... God, he was so confused.

 

He decided to give it one more go. Ignoring the use of the table for now, Hannibal decided that the one thing he wanted above all others was for Face to start eating and drinking normally again, so that’s all he would work on, the rest could wait for now. He picked up the plate of food and a cup of water and placed them on the floor just out of Face’s reach. He saw Face’s eyes, full of fear and trepidation watching him as he moved back onto his chair. He took a deep breath, “Lieutenant!” he bawled, trying to pretend that he was simply reaming Face out for coming back in after base curfew one night.

 

Face jumped out of his skin and his eyes flew up to Hannibal’s face, all the years of conditioning back in the early days paying off, “Eat that food now!” Hannibal barked, hating himself as he spoke, “All of it, and drink all the water! And that is a direct order soldier! Now move!”

 

Face jumped again and Hannibal watched in open mouthed shock as he scrambled to get to the plate, wolfing the food down almost in one mouthful, scraping the sauce from the grooves in the design and then downing the water, looking up at Hannibal with hunger obvious in his expression for the first time since he’d come back. Hannibal dropped to his knees next to the empty plate, his hand out and Face moved into it, letting Hannibal stroke through his re-grown hair, stroking and petting him, wanting to pull him in for a hug but not daring to. “Oh, good boy...” he whispered feeling the words choke on the lump in his throat, “You are such a good boy, I’m so proud of you.”

 

And then Face looked up at him again, that clear look in his eyes that Hannibal knew meant he was here and listening and so he decided to push his luck a little further. “Lieutenant!” he barked again and this time the flinch was not so pronounced, “I order you to talk to me! Whenever you think of anything you want to say or you think I need to hear, I am ordering you to tell me! Is that clear?!”

 

Face continued to stare at him with his clear blue eyes and then nodded slowly.

 

“I can’t hear you!” Hannibal yelled.

 

There was a long pause, Hannibal could see the struggle on the kid’s face and then he blinked, seeming to shake something from his mind, “Yes, sir...” he whispered, and this time Hannibal couldn’t stop himself from grabbing on and pulling him in.

 

“Oh, Face,” he whispered, petting his hair and stroking his hands over cold skin, “Thank god, thank god, you’re coming back, oh, thank god, I’ve missed you so much.”

 

And Face even held on back. Pushing his body up into Hannibal’s lap, trying to meld himself into his CO’s warmth.

 

“I missed you too...” came the quiet whisper and Hannibal found himself crying tears of joy.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

And then just as quickly, Face had disappeared again. He would respond to orders, would eat and drink when he was told to, would even wear clothes around the house during the day and sit at the table or on the sofa. But he didn't speak, even when he was directly ordered to and as much as he got into bed at night when he was ordered and wore a t-shirt and shorts to go to sleep as he was told, by the early hours of the morning after nightmares and screaming and waking up in terror more times than Hannibal could count, he would find Face naked and on the floor again, shaking and back in the grips of his demons.           

 

Which is why, Hannibal thinks as he finally pushes himself up off the decking to go and make Face his birthday breakfast, this is the very best present he could ever desire. 

 

_______________________

 

Birthday Four

Hannibal walks into the kitchen and to find Face already there, taking bowls out of the cupboard and lining them up on the side, the concentration on his face betraying how hard he finds this seemingly easy task.

 

“Hey, kid!” Hannibal reaches out and pats him easily on the back, “Happy Birthday!”

 

“Thanks,” Face offers up a hesitant smile as he reaches up for the cereal, “I was making breakfast and I know I can get it for you as well, but I didn’t know about the guys, didn’t know if I should get them any or not...” the worried knot on his forehead chases his smile away and Hannibal feels that familiar pang of sadness yet again that Face should be like this, continuously cautious and worried, anxious that he will do the ‘wrong’ thing and pain and humiliation will follow.

 

They’ve come a long way in the last year, Face will talk now, even without a direct order, and is happy to go outside as long as one of the others is with him. He is eating normally and even running again with Hannibal, bulking himself back up, losing the Concentration Camp figure. But he is far from normal. Nightmares, sleeping on the floor, stripping off his top as soon as he gets anxious... worrying about every little thing, looking for permission or approval in everything he does. Hannibal knows that Face has always been insecure, but that it was so well hidden that only those very closest to him could see it. Now however, well, it’s there for all the world to see.

 

They’ve taken on a few jobs recently, they had to. All the funds they had accumulated over the years had gone; their pardons had come through but no sniff of compensation for false imprisonment and loss of earnings, and no offer of reinstatement, not that he’d want it anyway, not with Face like he is. Hannibal is pretty sure that once Face gets back on his game, he will be able to sort out their compensation claims and get their discharges made honourable, but until then, they have been forced back into work. Agent Dark has put a few things their way, but Hannibal is very careful to keep Face out of the limelight, he knows damn well that he won’t be able to handle anything much right now, so all their jobs are paper trail based, easy money, nothing too physical just yet. And the fact that Face knows all this and isn’t complaining, tells Hannibal all he needs to know.

 

There is a noise behind them in the corridor and suddenly Murdock and BA appear in their PJs and the relief is clear in Face’s expression, now that everyone is here, he doesn’t need to worry.

 

The day goes by well, with lunch out and a baseball game, followed by a BBQ back on the deck. Face seems a little reserved about his present, the sleek and beautiful black Victory Vegas 8-ball motorbike that the guys have got for him and Hannibal wonders if he is tired, finding the demands of the day a little stressful.

 

So by seven pm he packs Murdock and BA off. They’d stayed over last night anyway, and BA has a job he’s doing for a friend early tomorrow, so they are quite happy to go, and before he knows it, Hannibal has Face to himself on the deck at the back of the house, and they start to tidy away the leftover food.

 

“You had a beer yet?” Hannibal asks him as they work in companiable silence.

 

Face shakes his head, he’s off all his meds now, but he is wary about the effect that alcohol has on him, tends to push him into the melancholy and really, that’s the last thing Face needs right now.

 

“Why don't you take the bike for a spin then? Give her a run, see how she goes?” Hannibal is looking down so misses the naked fear that flashes over the kid’s face.

 

“Nah, I’m fine, I’ll help you instead,” he says.

 

“Face, come on!” Hannibal pushes, “It’s your birthday! Get out and have some, fun, leave the tidying to me.”

 

“I said no!” The flash of anger is there, a flash that Hannibal hasn’t seen in a long, long time. Not since the day he first brought him home, two years ago today and he stares as Face drops his head, meek again, wiping chip crumbs off the table.

 

Hannibal watches him carefully. “Go on,” he says, “get going or I’ll think you don't like it.”

 

For a second Hannibal thinks he’s going to fight back, that spark flares in his eyes for just a second and then it is gone, he hangs his head once more and turns to trudge down the steps to the garage, defeat screaming from every pore. Hannibal knows just how he feels.

 

Time stretches out as Hannibal continues to tidy the deck and the kitchen, keeping one ear out for the throaty roar of the bike as he busies himself. It never comes. After twenty five minutes Hannibal can’t stand it anymore and heads down to the garage himself wondering what the hell is going on.

 

He sees Face standing, ramrod straight, fists clenched tight staring at the beautiful bike, a look of pure loathing on his face. Hannibal frowns. The second that BA showed him a picture of that bike he knew that Face would love it, so what’s going on? Hannibal takes a cautious step in, maybe he’d been wrong, maybe the old Face would have loved the bike, the carefree, relaxed, loving, _happy_ Face would have loved it, but this one, who is always anxious, tense, awkward, down-right _terrified_ what is there left in the world for _him_ to love?

 

He steps in again, “Face?”

 

“I can’t do it,” Face mutters, his voice thick with anger and pain.

 

“Do what?” Hannibal asks, risking another step in.

 

“This!!” Face suddenly yells, exploding in a blast of anger. “I can’t ride this bike!” He shouts, “I don’t know how, I don't know if I dare, I can’t go out on my own! What if I get lost?”

 

“Face, you can ride the bike,” Hannibal soothes. “You just haven’t done it for a while; you’ll soon get back into the swing of it.”

 

“It’s not just the bike!” and Hannibal can see the tension in his body, the anger and frustration looking for a way out after all this time, “It’s everything! It’s me! Look at me Hannibal! I can’t do anything! I’m pathetic!”

 

“Face, please...”

 

“No, I am!” He’s still yelling, his face flushed with rage, “I’m a fucking useless excuse for a man! There’s nothing left to me, Hannibal, nothing! I wouldn’t make the army; you don't want to run any proper missions with me... He’s taken everything from me, _everything_ ,” Hannibal can hear the hitch in his voice and takes another step in, “and I let him...” Face drops his head into his hands and starts to sag, “I just let him boss... what kind of man am I that I would just let him do those _things_ to me...?”

 

Hannibal steps right up now, gathering Face up in his arms, pulling him close, letting him lean into the gap under his chin and letting him cry. Face has never cried, not like this, not with any awareness of why the tears are falling. He’s sobbed and screamed and yelled himself raw, but all of that while he wasn’t really _there_. And he’s never talked about what happened to him, never, and Hannibal thinks that maybe he should, especially if he is thinking thoughts like that.

 

Hannibal leads him into the house and onto the sofa and settles them both down with him still tucked firmly under his arm and his chin. Face has stopped sobbing now but he is still crying, silent tears streaking down his cheeks and dropping onto his shirt.

 

“There was nothing more that you could have done, kid,” Hannibal tells him softly, making sure he is holding him everywhere he can, offering him comfort through touch. “You fought him as hard as you could, harder than he expected you to. And if you hadn’t fought as hard as that, if you had given in easier, then you would have been dead, just like the others.”

 

Face turns his head to look up, concern in his eyes, “You know about the others?” he asks and Hannibal nods.

 

“Yeah, they found their bodies out in the orchard.”

 

Face drops his head again, “I couldn’t save them,” he mutters and Hannibal drops a kiss onto the top of his head.

 

“I know, Face,” he whispers, “You had enough on just keeping yourself alive. No one expected more from you than that.”

 

There’s a minute’s silence before Face speaks again, “Have you seen any of the DVDs?” His voice is scared and timid.

 

“No,” Hannibal tells him, not sure if that is the answer the kid wants or not but pulls him in tighter anyway.

 

“Good,” Face replies, “I would hate for you to see me like that. I hate to even _be_ like that, like this,” he amends, “but for you to see it...”

 

He hangs his head and Hannibal feels his heart breaking. “Face,” his whispers, “don't do this to yourself; don't hurt yourself more than you have already been hurt. Don’t you see how strong you are, how you have survived something that no one else has? Ortiz is a sick, sick, bastard and he has tried to make you into something you’re not, but do you know what kid?” Hannibal’s hand slips down and lifts Face’s chin to look into his eyes, “He didn’t do it, because you are still _you_ , you are inside here,” a finger reaches down to tap over Face’s heart, “and you are getting stronger every damn day, and every time I look at you I am so proud, so, so proud of how you have survived this...” And then he stops, the desire to tell Face that he loves him, that he’s in love with him and wants to spend the rest of their lives together is almost too strong to resist...

 

“I don't feel strong,” Face whispers, his hand creeping around under Hannibal’s ribs, a solid point of contact. “Especially not in the night, in the dark, when I’m alone.”

 

Hannibal pulls him in even tighter, two arms bringing him as close as he can, wishing he could offer to hold the kid all night.

 

“Can I sleep in with you?” Face asks, his voice timid in the night and Hannibal doesn’t hesitate.

 

“Of course,” he whispers and he feels the smile as it curves against his chin.  

 

Birthday Five

 

Hannibal slumps further down into his chair as he watches the sun go down, all alone, from his spot on the deck. It’s Face’s birthday today and for the first time since Murdock invented this sweet little routine, he hasn’t even spoken to the kid.

 

He rubs the stubble on his chin and stares absently at all the empty beer bottles spread out across the deck, evidence of his day’s activities, as he wonders where Face is today, if he spent his birthday with Murdock or BA, of if he just spent it all on his own. Hannibal hopes with all his heart it’s not the latter. If he did spend it with the guys, then Hannibal would be the last one to know, they aren’t speaking to him, haven’t done at all in this last month. They blame him for Face leaving like he did, moving out into his own little apartment. Hannibal should be pleased really that Face is feeling confident enough to move out and live on his own like this, but he isn’t, he’s just too busy wondering what the hell went wrong with them and how he could have maybe fixed it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Face moved into his bed on the night of his last birthday, and Hannibal had been more than pleased at the feel of that warm length wrapped around him night after night. It never went any further though, nothing even remotely sexual happened, apart from Hannibal making sure that his damn stubborn hard on was well hidden every night and every morning. He wondered if Face would ever feel like he was ready for a sexual relationship, maybe Ortiz had taken that from him for good, or maybe not, but whichever way it went, Hannibal was just happy to have the man he loved safe in his arms night after night.  

 

For almost a year life was good. Once Face moved into Hannibal’s bed, his confidence seemed to grow exponentially. Within weeks he was going out on the bike by himself, two months after his birthday he was sparring with the team and had also started kick boxing. Three months later Hannibal decided it was time the team started taking on full missions again, and another four months after that, Face finally felt he had enough material together to pursue the compensation claim against the US army in an effort to finally clear the last slur from their names.

 

But then, last month everything had gone drastically wrong.

 

It had started off as just another ordinary day, but then Face had become more wound up and anxious as the evening had progressed. Hannibal had tried to ignore him, he’d asked what was wrong, been given the snappy, _nothing_ and decided to let things lie, thought that Face must just be tired, feeling the strain of all the extra things he was doing now.

 

But then just before ten pm, Face had stalked into the lounge where Hannibal was reading and demanded to know if Hannibal wanted to tell him something. Hannibal slid his reading glasses off his nose and looked up, more than slightly confused before telling him no, that everything was alright. Then, the anxiety building with every passing moment, Face pulled an envelope from his pocket and threw it at Hannibal, asking what was going on.

 

Hannibal remembers looking at the envelope in confusion. It was a letter off their old friend Dr. Maggie Sullivan. She’d helped the team out a couple of time back in the early days, especially when BA had been shot, and she’d stayed in touch ever since. She and Hannibal had shared a kiss once, but nothing had come from it, she’d not really been his type.

 

“It’s from Maggie,” he told Face, frowning in confusion, “You remember her? Doctor? Black Rock?”

 

“Hannibal! I remember her!” Face seethed, “How could I forget?” Hannibal’s frown deepened. “So,” he demanded, arms folded across his chest, “is she coming to stay then?”

 

Now Hannibal was truly confused. “No, Face,” he told him patiently, “she was just sharing a bit of news that’s all.” She was actually getting married, had invited them all to the wedding, but Hannibal kept that to himself for now, there was no way of knowing how Face would react to the thought of a big public event like that.

 

“Right,” Face looked slightly deflated, but the tension and the anxiety were still in his eyes and his body. “So, you are not seeing her yet, but you might be soon?”

 

Hannibal tilted his head to look at his lieutenant, wondering what the hell was really going on here. “Yes,” he agreed, “I’m not seeing her now but I might see her later. Is that a problem for you?”

 

“No!” Face snapped turning on his heel, “Fucking course not!” and he stormed out of the door.

 

“Where are you going?” Hannibal shouted after him.

 

“Bed!” Face yelled back. “That okay with you?”

 

Hannibal had just stared after him in confusion.

 

~~~~~~

 

An hour or so later Hannibal turned in for the night as well and was relieved to see Face laid in his bed again, he still wasn’t sure what had got the kid so wound up like that, but knew that if he’d gone off into his own room again then they would be straight back into the nightmares and terrors. 

 

Hannibal could tell that Face was awake but also that he was determinedly ignoring him, so he decided to play along and got ready for bed in silence, making sure, just like every night, that he was wearing underwear underneath his pyjamas. The last thing he wanted was Face getting wind of his hard on in bed...

 

He gently slid into bed and moved towards the middle making himself available should Face want to come and lie next to him, and then he tried to relax, willing the tension of the day out of his system.

 

Suddenly he felt Face move and before he knew what was going on the duvet had been pushed back and the kid was up on his knees on the bed next to him. Hannibal could see from the light coming in through the curtains that he was completely naked and he turned to present his ass to Hannibal, tipping himself up in the air, clearly making an offering, while one hand reached back to find the front of his boss’ shorts, stroking insistently the growing bulge he found there.

 

“Jesus! Face!” Hannibal hissed snapping to his senses all of a sudden, “What the fuck are you doing?”

 

“What do you think?” Face replied in a voice that sounded like it was straight out of a very bad porn movie. “Why don't you let me show you what I can do?” he purred and Hannibal was out of bed at the speed of light.

 

“Stop it!” he snapped having the sudden uncomfortable feeling that he had just had the tiniest taste of what had been on those DVDs.

 

“You don't need her,” Face had insisted, following Hannibal out of bed and tracking him across the room, “I can be anything you want me to be, give me a chance, let me show you how good I am.” His hands were all over Hannibal, touching, squeezing, but it was the dead look in his eyes, the emptiness that literally made Hannibal want to vomit.

 

“Who?” he whispered, pushing Face’s hands right off him and still feeling completely out of the loop.

 

“Maggie!” Face told him as if he were stupid and one hand tried to push its way into Hannibal’s shorts where Hannibal knew damn well he would find his shameful erection and then the game would be up. “Look, is this because I’m not hard yet?” Hannibal heard Face asking, “’Cause I can do that you know, make myself hard, just for you, while you watch, I’m good at that, always the quickest, you want to see?” 

 

And something in Hannibal just broke. The evidence, right in front of him, of what Face had been through in those missing months, the humiliation and sexual torture that the kid had endured, the conditioning that ran so deep and the long, long way that he still had to travel before he was free of Ortiz, combined with those teasing fingers creeping ever closer to his hard cock just made him snap and, without a single thought, he lashed out.    

 

His fist caught Face in the side of the head, a crushing blow that knocked him off his feet and into the night stand, jarring his ribs as he fell and leaving him curled up on the carpet struggling for every breath. Hannibal stood and stared in shock, eyes wide open, gaping in horror at the heinous act he had performed. No one in the whole world had suffered more than Face; no one deserved love and protection more. No one was as damaged and vulnerable, but still Hannibal had hurt him.

 

He took a step in, his hand reaching out to the huddled figure on the floor, but Face just cringed away from him. Hannibal froze, it was a move so horribly reminiscent of those dark days over two years ago that Hannibal just panicked, scared out of his wits that his one rash act had sent the kid spiralling back into the abyss. Without a word he turned and fled from the scene, running out of the room and out of the house before Face had even managed to drag himself up onto his feet.

 

By the time he had come to his senses and returned to the house, Face, his clothes and his Victory were all gone.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Hannibal shifts on the decking and looks up at the stars. It took him until the next afternoon to find that Face had gone to Murdock’s and that Hannibal was officially persona non grata with the rest of the team, but he didn’t really care. All that he could think about was the fact that Face had gone, that Hannibal had _hit_ him and driven him away. After everything they had been through together, Hannibal had driven him away...

 

So, what now? He finds it hard to care when all he has thought about for the last five years is Face and how he can make his life better. There doesn’t seem to be a point to this life anymore. He moves in his seat and then the next thing he knows is he is face down on the cool decking, the chair tipped up next to him, empty beer bottles rolling about all over the place and he decides to just go to sleep.

 

He can’t have been sleeping long, it’s still dark and the stars haven’t moved much when a warm hand shakes him awake. “Boss? Hey, boss, you okay?”

 

Hannibal blinks blearily in the dark and sees Face looking down at him; the bruise on his cheek all healed now, his blue eyes intense.

 

Within minutes he’s back in the house, propped up on the sofa, a black coffee in his hand and all he can think about is how Face must have been working out if he managed to haul his drunken ass back into the house on his own.

 

“Hey, boss,” Face is frowning as he comes back into the house with all the bottles in his arms, “you been hitting the beer pretty hard, then? I can’t get these into the recycling bin.”

 

Hannibal just shrugs, what if he has?

 

He hears the bottles clunked away somewhere and then Face is back, sitting opposite him on the other end of the sofa, watching him carefully and Hannibal just has to turn away, hide in his coffee as he wonders why Face has even come here.

 

“I’ve got some news for you,” Face eventually offers and Hannibal wonders if he read his mind. “I had a call today from my case officer at the FBI,” Hannibal looks over in concern, he’s always been terrified that they would try to get Face to testify against Ortiz; Hannibal knows that doing that will tip the kid right back into the mire again. “Ortiz is dead,” he states instead and Hannibal is shocked almost back to sobriety.

 

“How?” he mutters sitting up a little straighter.

 

“Another prisoner while he was on remand,” Face shrugs, “seems the guy wasn’t all that popular.”

 

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Hannibal tries to figure out how this will make Face feel but he can’t, it’s confusing enough to try and work out his own feelings.

 

“Are you pleased?” he asks instead and watches as a million different emotions play out over the kid’s face.

 

“Maybe,” he says eventually. “I mean it’s nice to sleep at night without worrying he’s going to come back for me... and I’m glad I don't have to give evidence against him, but...” he smiles a sad smile, “it would have been nice to face him down just once and walk away with my self-esteem intact.”

 

Hannibal understands how he could want that; all Hannibal had really wanted was to stand and watch him die.

 

“Well,” Face gets up, “I thought you’d want to know, you know, after everything...” he tails off and Hannibal can see the embarrassment in his eyes. “Bye, John.”

 

“Face!” Hannibal is on his feet, gripping the back of the chair to stop the swaying and he looks Face right in the eye as the kid turns around. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hitting you that night. I had no right, I’m so sorry.”

 

Face returns the stare for the briefest of moments before the sad smile is back. “Don’t worry,” he takes another step away, “I was right out of order. I misread the signs, boss, I’m the one who should be apologising.”

 

Suddenly, weeks too late, things start to click into place for Hannibal and he grabs Face’s arm as he turns towards the door once more. “Temp,” he whispers and Face looks at him, confusion in his blue eyes. “I was never interested in Maggie you know, never, she’s not really my style, far too feminine for me...”

 

Hannibal sees the double take in Face’s eyes quickly replaced by the doubt, “But boss, you weren’t interested in me, I could see that. The look in your eyes...” Face’s head shakes in embarrassment.

 

“No,” he whispers, needing Face to understand this, “it wasn’t _you_ , Face that made me feel like that, it was the whole situation, it was wrong, too forced, too desperate, we weren’t ready for that, not yet.”

 

There’s a light back in Face’s eyes, “But one day? Maybe?”

 

“God, yes, kid, definitely.” Hannibal takes a risk and lifts his hand up to Face’s cheek, stroking gently as he looks into his eyes. “I love you, I have done for years now, you are all I’ve ever wanted.”

 

Face frowns at him, “But not yet, not now?

 

“Yes, in our house,” Hannibal tips a tiny light kiss onto his lips, “yes, in our bed,” he drops the kiss again, “and the rest will come, when we are _both_ ready for it.”

 

“You don't think I am ready?” Face whispers, his voice naked and raw.

 

Hannibal shakes his head, “Have you ever made love with a man? You know, consensual sex? When you have really wanted it?” and then it is Face who shakes his head as Hannibal smiles at him. “Do _you_ think you are ready?”

 

“No,” the answer is whispered.

 

“So what was all that about then, the other week?”

 

Face can’t meet his eyes and he looks down as Hannibal reaches in to stroke his cheek again, “I thought you were leaving,” the sad voice almost breaks Hannibal’s heart all over again, “I was trying to get you to stay.”

 

“I will never leave you,” Hannibal promises lifting Face’s eyes up to meet his own, “and you _never_ have to be like that with me, do you understand me Temp? Never. Never.”

 

Face nods and leans in, letting Hannibal tug him close and tuck him into the space under his chin.

 

“Will you sleep in with me?” Hannibal asks, his voice timid in the night and Face doesn’t hesitate.

 

“Of course,” he whispers and he feels the smile as it curves against his head.

 


End file.
